


Reconditioning

by BrighteyedJill, piglet_illustrations (thefilthiestpiglet)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Catholic Steve Rogers, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Gangbang, M/M, Medical Examination, Medical Professionals Being Jerks, Original Character Death(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religion, Sex Work, which is kind of the middle name of this universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/piglet_illustrations
Summary: After an unpleasant incident in the field, Barnes and the rest of his squad are sent back behind the lines. Barnes has to undergo a psych evaluation to prove he's still fit to command, and Steve has a test of his own to pass.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theletterelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/gifts).



> This is part of the 4F alternate universe. No knowledge of prior stories is necessary to enjoy this one. The basic premise is that Steve never got the serum, but enlisted in the Army as a prophylactic auxiliary, whose job it is to provide sex for other soldiers. He's been assigned to the Howling Commandos. Bucky broke himself and the others out of the factory, thanks to the knock-off serum acquired from Zola. In the time Steve's been assigned to the Howlies, they've gotten pretty close, and also Bucky Barnes is not doing so well with his super(ish) powers. 
> 
> If you like this and want to read more in the 4F universe, there are some really great pieces: "Government Issue" by stoatsandwich is a good place to start.
> 
> This is for theletterelle, who won me for the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico auction way back when. Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Thanks to thefilthiestpiglet and jaunechat for beta-ing, brainstorming, and cheerleading.
> 
> And please (please!) enjoy thefilthiestpiglet's artwork, which you can find embedded in chapters 2, 4, and 5.

Steve goes in with them whenever they storm a base, because it’s safer than hiding in the woods by himself. That’s why he’s right behind Jones, keeping his eyes peeled for lingering Hydra soldiers, when they step into some kind of detention block. There’s a big open room with a row of metal beds, straps dangling from the tables, and heaped in the corner are bodies that have been dead a few days at least. Steve tears his eyes away from the corpses when Jones puts an arm out to stop him from moving. Steve follows Gabe’s eyes and sees Barnes in the far corner, and he sees Barnes raise his rifle. The muzzle flashes twice, and a second later the retort of the gun echoes off the concrete walls. Steve has just enough time to see that the men Barnes dropped were in US Army uniforms. Then comes the screaming.

It’s a prisoner, a young man who’s also in the tattered remains of a US uniform. He’s screaming at Barnes. He’s chained to the wall, otherwise he’d be rushing at him. As it is, he’s straining at the end of his tether, incoherent with rage. Barnes turns his rifle and aims it at the screaming man, who finally shuts up.

“Sarge!” Steve calls. Barnes looks right at him. For a moment, his eyes remain blank. Then Barnes finally seems to focus and actually see what he’s looking at. He lowers his rifle.

“Sarge?” Jones hurries forward to get between Barnes and the chained-up soldier. Steve sticks with him, careful not to slip in the spreading pools of blood. “Hey, you alright?”

“It had to be done.” Barnes looks pale, his eyes glassy. Steve’s seen this before, too often recently.

“Sarge, Dernier wanted you to check in before he finishes rigging this place to blow,” Jones says. “I can mop up here. Can you take Rogers?”

Barnes nods slowly. He spares one more glance for the bodies on the floor, then stalks towards the door.

“Go. Stay with him,” Jones says softly as he gives Steve a little push. “Don’t let him go off on his own.”

Steve doesn’t argue with the orders. He catches up with Barnes in the hallway, where it’s easier to breathe and doesn’t smell so much like a butcher shop. Barnes doesn’t acknowledge Steve, but he slows his steps so Steve can keep pace. As they move, Steve stays out of the way: keeps his hand on Barnes’ back, so he knows Steve’s there, but Steve isn’t impeding his ability to fight. Barnes drops three more Squids on their way to the hanger where Dernier is waiting. Though Barnes’ aim is as steady as ever, Steve can feel him shaking.  
\--

No one bats an eye when Steve follows Barnes right into the command tent. If he keeps his mouth shut, people tend to forget he’s there. He’s barely let Barnes out of his sight the whole way back, even took the friendly ribbing from the rest of the Howlies when he fell asleep right over Barnes’ lap in the truck on the way back here. Barnes had told him to get lost when they arrived at the base, but Steve’s pretty sure he’s more stubborn than two of Barnes put together.

When they walk in, Colonel Phillips catches Steve’s eye for a moment, but most of his attention is caught up in talking over an officer that Steve recognizes as the prisoner they’d rescued during the raid. The man’s got one arm in a sling and some pretty spectacular bruising on his face. He’s put on a clean uniform, but the voice has the same outraged fury.

“--ever seen him in action, you’d think again,” the officer says. “I want that man demoted, discharged, even. He’s a monster, a traitor--”

“Your opinion has been noted, and we will take that under advisement, Lieutenant Adams,” Phillips says in a tone that isn’t precisely a shout, but isn’t not, either. “You’re dismissed.”

“Sir.” Adams shoots a look at Barnes. “I want to stress that--”

“Dismissed,” Phillips says, louder this time.

“Yes, sir.” Adams tosses off a salute and pushes out of the tent, knocking his shoulder into Barnes as he goes. Barnes barely seems to feel it. He steps up and salutes, looking more like a dutiful soldier than Steve has ever seen him.

Phillips returns the salute, then looks Barnes slowly up and down. He shakes his head once, just barely enough movement to notice. “You’re going in for a psychological evaluation. Pack your bag.”

“Sir,” Barnes says, “I don’t need a psychological--”

“You do if I say you do.” Philips steps up to Barnes, puts a hand on his shoulder, and waits until Barnes looks him in the eye. “If you want to stay in this war, son, you have to hold yourself together.” He turns towards the paper-littered table and begins scribbling on a form. “You’re going to Cheltenham, officially for a refit and resupply. I know a shrink at the Station Hospital there who’s all right. You’re going to see a doctor, you’re going to convince him you’ve got all your marbles, and you’re coming back here on the double. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.” Barnes’ gaze slides to the side, not quite far enough to look Steve in the eye, and his shoulders slump a bit. “Who’s gonna be in charge of my unit while I’m gone, sir?”

“Take them with you,” Phillips says, and Steve watches Barnes perk up. Phillips holds out the completed form, which Barnes takes. Then he looks at Steve. “Get him back here ASAP, is that understood?”

“Uh,” Steve says, not sure for a minute that Philips is talking to him. “Yes, sir. Will do, sir.” He and Barnes both throw salutes, which Philips returns.

“Dismissed.”


	2. Chapter 2

The soonest there’s room on a plane to Cheltenham is at 06:00, so they get a chance to wash the battle dirt off them, at least. Steve takes the time for a thorough cleaning, since they’ve been in the field a while and the men will certainly want to make use of him tonight, so he gets back to their assigned barracks building just in time to see Lieutenant Adams stomping away, jaw set tight and fit to crack a tooth. When Steve pushes the door open, Dugan and Morita jump up from their chairs with expressions more hostile than Steve has seen them wear in battle.

“Am I interrupting?” Steve asks.

Dernier mutters something in French that isn’t in Steve’s limited vocabulary, and Jones elbows him. Dugan glances towards the rear wall, where Barnes sits on a cot, arms on his knees, head hanging, then back at Steve, and shakes his head.

“We’re just getting impatient.” Monty catches Steve’s waist and tugs him up against his body. He isn’t hard yet, but that generally isn’t a problem for long. They’re always impatient for him when they get into a base and everyone can let down their guard a bit. “You ready, then?”

“Sure.” Steve spares a quick glance at Barnes, who’s looking up now, staring in Steve’s direction, but vaguely, like he isn’t sure Steve’s there at all.

“Go on, Rogers,” Morita says. “Sooner you finish with Monty, sooner the rest of us can get our share of the fun.”

They’re quieter than usual tonight-- the banter, the dirty jokes and encouragement ring hollow and taper off by the time he’s bouncing on Morita’s lap. Barnes says nothing, but follows Steve around the room with his eyes. They’d all long ago lost any qualms about fucking in front of each other, but it still isn’t polite to stare.

Dugan gets Steve on his knees on a cot and holds him by the waist to give him a good hard buggering. Steve feels his face heat as he locks eyes with Barnes, then can’t tear himself away, no matter how fast Dugan fucks him. By the time Dernier and Jones are pushing Steve back and forth between them, Jones sliding easily into his thoroughly stretched ass and Dernier with a gentle hand on Steve’s head, feeding Steve his cock again and again and again, Steve can hear Barnes touching himself. Steve squirms as his cock throbs, thinking of Barnes watching him get stuffed at both ends. When they’re both finished, adding to the sticky mess, Jones puts his clothes to rights, picks up his cigarette case, and nods to Barnes as he follows Dernier out.

Steve hadn’t noticed that the others had gone out too, without a word, leaving him alone with Barnes, who’s still sitting on his cot, staring at Steve as he strokes himself. Steve is suddenly aware of his own obvious erection and the streaks of semen drying all over him. “I can get cleaned up, if you want.”

Barnes shakes his head and holds out a hand. Steve shuffles closer, trying to keep his legs together to minimize the mess dripping from his well-used hole. As soon as he’s within reach, Barnes’ big, warm hand wrap around Steve’s stiff cock. Steve stumbles forward and has to brace himself against Barnes’s shoulders. He opens his mouth to tell Barnes to quit playing around, but then closes it to hold back a yelp of surprise when Barnes bows his head and puts his mouth on Steve’s cock.

Steve has to lock his knees so he won’t collapse straight away. It isn’t as if none of the Howlies has ever touched him like this-- Jones and Dernier almost always give him a reach-around, and Monty enjoys having Steve in his mouth once in a while, and Barnes himself has done it a couple times before, but this times Barnes sucks Steve down like he needs it, like he’s afraid Steve’s going tell him no. That thought is immediately pushed out by Steve’s urgent need to come.

“Sarge, you got to stop. I’m gonna--”

Barnes pulls off of him, but rather than backing off, lifts Steve bodily and drops him on his back on the cot. As Steve lays there, dazed, his right hand clamped around his dick and trying not to come right away, Barnes efficiently strips off his clothes and his boots. With one neat motion, he straddles Steve, kneeling above him and watching him through narrowed eyes. His limbs are a cage, but Steve doesn’t feel trapped. Barnes isn’t going to hurt him, not on purpose.

Steve still has a jar of vaseline in his left hand, and he lifts it up for Barnes to see. He probably doesn’t need it after the pounding he’s already taken, but it never hurts to be thorough. Bucky’s eyes catch on the jar, and after staring at Steve for another moment, he snatches it out of Steve’s hand.

“You don’t have to,” Steve says with a furious blush, thinking of the mess between his legs, and grabs for the jar. But then Barnes swipes his fingers through the slick and reaches down between them. Steve’s mouth falls open as Barnes pushes two fingers inside himself. His eyes fall shut and his head tips back, baring his neck, and Steve has to dig his short fingernails into the head of his cock to keep from going off right then and there.

“Sarge?” Steve isn’t sure any sound came out when he tried to speak. He can’t hear himself over the pounding of his heartbeat. He just watches Barnes’ thick cock bobbing as he works his fingers inside. “Sarge?”

Barnes’ eyes snap open. He pulls his slicked hand free and settles it on Steve’s cock. Steve barely feels it. All his attention is caught on Barnes’s face. Barnes pushes down, taking Steve’s cock inside him-- he doesn’t look like he’s in pain, or like he’s disgusted by it. He looks like it feels good.

Without his permission, Steve’s hands clamp onto Barnes’s muscular thighs. It’s not professional behavior, he thinks. Auxiliaries aren’t supposed to clutch at the men or give them orders, but when Steve sees Barnes’s face scrunch as he pushes down further, he has to call out, “Slow!”

Barnes freezes, watching Steve. His chest is heaving, his cock straight and hard against his belly. Steve suddenly wishes he had oil paints, because that’d be the only way to capture the beauty he’s seeing. “Slow and easy,” Steve says, steadier than he feels. “You got to relax.”

Barnes leans back a bit, sending himself sliding slowly onto Steve’s cock until he’s snug against Steve. Bucky’s got his arms braced on either side of Steve, holding his weight off Steve’s body, and still for some reason Steve still feels like he can’t get enough air. But he’s certainly not going to tap out now.

Steve reaches between them to grasp Barnes’s cock. It feels plenty hard, wet at the tip as usual when Steve is servicing Barnes. When Barnes shudders at the touch, Steve feels it _everywhere_. When Bucky starts to move, lifting up with those powerful legs and gliding down again, Steve has to bite the inside of his cheek so he won’t forget himself and start to thrust. And when Barnes looks Steve right in the eye as he rides Steve’s cock and fucks Steve’s fist until he starts to shoot all over Steve’s belly, Steve follows him over the edge, gasping as he spends himself inside his commanding officer.

They stay like that, staring at each other and gulping in air, until Steve’s softening cock slides out. Barnes pitches forward, bracing himself over Steve and burying his face against Steve’s neck. He’s shaking again, silently. Steve puts a hand on Barnes’ bare back and strokes him gently, like his Ma had done for him when he’d been hurting but too stubborn to cry.

The semen’s already dry and crusted, and Steve’s back is starting to ache when Barnes abruptly sits up, climbs off the bed, and sets about getting dressed. Steve lays there watching, but Barnes doesn’t go after the others. He sits back down on the edge of the cot and lights up a cigarette. 

Steve swings his legs over the side of the cot and sits up, too. He’s started to feel a bit of a chill, but he doesn’t want to get up and go sit on his own cot at the far side of the room, alone. Barnes looks at him as he inhales, the glow of his cigarette lighting his tired eyes. Steve has been naked in front of the Howlies too often to have any modesty around Barnes, but something in that look makes Steve’s cheeks heat.

To hide the flush, Steve stands up and drags his rucksack over from the pile by the door. He gets out a clean rag-- part of an old uniform shirt of Monty’s, too worn out to patch anymore--and wets it from his canteen. First he wipes his face, then scrubs his belly and between his legs. Barnes watches him as he pulls on his cleanest pair of shorts, a t-shirt that nearly reaches his knees, and two pairs of socks. Then Steve looks at Barnes, who takes another puff of his cigarette before dropping his eyes to the floor.

Exhaustion settles on Steve then, like at the end of a forced march. He settles his rucksack next to Barnes’ cot and announces, “I’m sleeping here tonight.” Technically, it’s Dugan’s night, but he tosses and turns too much, and anyway, Steve thinks he’ll probably understand.

Barnes just looks at him and nods: no teasing, no snappy comeback. The tight ball of unease that has been settling in Steve’s stomach clenches harder. While Barnes finishes his smoke, Steve kneels down and says his Hail Mary novena, then says another one for the soul of Sergeant James Barnes. He hopes Barnes wouldn’t mind, not believing in the Virgin Mary, but even if Barnes did, Steve would do it anyway.

Barnes tucks up behind Steve when he lays down, and not too much later, the other Howlies return and go to their cots with a minimum of chatter. Steve lays awake as long as he can, but Barnes’s hand clenching Steve’s shirt never relaxes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read the first two chapters yesterday before art was posted, I suggest you go back and check out thefilthiestpiglet's awesome art for chapter 2.

In Cheltenham, all the Howlies’ gear gets examined at the Quartermaster’s. The canvas tents get some patches, the dented mess kits get replaced, and Dernier gets issued a bigger rucksack for all the ordinance he always carries around. Steve signs in with the Quartermaster and is promptly sent off to the Auxiliary Liaison Officer for a full check-up.

The Auxiliary Liaison Officer sends him to the Army Station Hospital, which is a neat arrangement of tents and Nissen huts in a field that might once have been a park. From there Steve plays pass-the-paperwork for an hour or so before he’s foisted off on a harried-looking nurse who checks his name off a clipboard and beckons him along.

She walks him to a long Nissen hut with rows of occupied beds crammed in tightly against each wall. Steve’s seen bad injuries in the line of duty, but after some rough field medicine, those soldiers disappear from the front, either to the grave or to more substantial hospitals behind the lines, like this one. The patients that are awake stare at him as he passes, some raising their eyebrows at his pro boy tabs, other sharing knowing looks. The nurse stops at the end of the row, by an empty bed in the corner.

“Sorry we don’t have dedicated facilities for auxiliaries,” she says as she checks off something on her clipboard. “We’re bursting at the seams, here.”

“It’s fine, ma’am.” Steve drops his rucksack on the narrow bed. “I’ve slept in much worse places.”

She offers a distracted smile. “Go ahead and remove your uniform. Dr. Tavers should be along shortly to begin your examination.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He sits there listening to a group of patients in the nearby beds play cards and complain about food while he starts to get goosebumps from sitting in the damp air in nothing but his shorts. Dr. Tavers, it turns out when he finally arrives, is British: a tall, elegant man with dark hair and eyes and a quick, efficient way of moving, even despite his noticeable limp. He peers at Steve over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses, and Steve notices his brow creasing as he frowns.

“Auxiliary First Class Rogers, is it?” Tavers doesn’t pause long enough for Steve to respond.“Before we get started with an examination, I’ll need to take a report.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, and sits up a bit straighter.

“Describe the nature of your duties.” Tavers looks up from the clipboard he’s holding.

“The nature…?” Steve frowns. “I’m a prophylactic auxiliary, sir.”

“Yes, yes.” He waves a hand distractedly. “The frequency and methods of your service.”

“Oh.” Steve lets out a quick breath. “Well, the squad has six men, and if conditions allow, I like to be able to get them all taken care of once or twice a day.”

“You _like_ to. I see.” He jots down something on his clipboard. “And how do you ‘take care’ of them?”

“One of the three approved methods: masturbation by hand, copulation by mouth, sodomy per anum,” he says, like he’s quoting from the manual.

“And which do you prefer?”

“Sir?”

Tavers raises his eyes from whatever he’s writing to look at Steve. “Of the three methods, which do you prefer?”

“I--” Steve looks at his hands, blinks away an image of Dugan fucking him while he sucks Dernier, and looks back up at the doctor. “It’s all the same to me, sir, as long as I can do my duty.”

“I see. You enjoy all forms of sexual contact equally.” Tavers makes a note. “Strip now, please.”

Steve blinks at that, cheeks heating as he thinks of the convalescents in the ward who were playing cards or reading the paper, but they’ve seen men getting treated before, surely, and Steve has nothing to be ashamed of. Tavers watches while Steve wiggles out of his shorts, folds them, and sets them neatly next to the rest of his kit.

“Sit,” Tavers says. When Steve does, he steps up in front of him, tips Steve’s head up and begins feeling his neck. “What is the frequency distribution among the three approved methods you mentioned?” Tavers asks. “How often do you accommodate the men anally as opposed to orally, for example?”

“It depends,” Steve says slowly. He’s never had to answer these questions at a check-up before, but it’s been a while since he’s been this far back behind the lines. Maybe they do things differently here. Or maybe the liaison officer ordered an extra-thorough exam because Steve has been out with an active squad instead of safe in a pro station. “They have different preferences. Maybe it’s half and half?”

“Really?” Tavers raises an eyebrow.

“It depends on the circumstances, too,” Steve says quickly, suddenly worried that there’s something wrong with his answer. “If we’re in enemy territory and need to be able to move fast.”

“Hm.” Tavers picks up his clipboard and scribbles something down, then lifts his stethoscope to Steve’s chest. Steve tries not to wince at the cold metal. “And how often are you aroused when performing your duties?”

“I… it happens sometimes.”

“I see.” Tavers moves the stethoscope to Steve’s back. “Have you ever achieved orgasm while servicing the men?”

He thinks of Bucky’s mouth on him in the dark, of Gabe fingering him while he stroked his cock, of Dum-Dum and Falsworth passing him back and forth like a hot potato, each wanting to be the one to make him shoot. “It might have happened once or twice.”

“I see.” Tavers drops his stethoscope and points at Steve’s mouth. “Open.” When Steve obeys, Tavers presses his thumb down over Steve’s tongue so far Steve nearly gags, tucks his fingers under Steve’s chin, and pulls down until he’s pried Steve’s jaw open painfully wide. He peers inside, moving Steve’s head for a better angle. “You do realize that in the prophylactic auxiliary manual addendum for males, it explicitly states that displays of arousal are discouraged, because they may imply an expectation of reciprocation, or expose the men to dangerous homosexual desires?” He lets go of Steve, who has to swallow down the taste of Taver’s skin before he can answer.

“Yes, sir,” Steve says in a tight voice. On the ship from New York, he’d read the manual so many times he practically has it memorized. “I remember.”

“See that you do.” Tavers gives Steve a stern look. “It’s not the duty of our brave fighting men to gratify the deviant desires of an auxiliary whose only function is to provide them with physical release. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve’s glad Tavers is done with the stethoscope, because he can feel his heart stuttering in his chest at the idea that what he does might be any detriment to the Howlies. “I understand.”

“Good. Good lad. Lay down, here.”

Steve lies on his back, and Tavers kneads his fingers into Steve’s abdomen, pressing so hard Steve grits his teeth. He’s not going to complain, however. The injured soldiers here have definitely endured much worse.

“Now, I need to ask if any of the soldiers have asked you to penetrate them,” Tavers says as he palpitates Steve’s abdomen. “I know it seems far-fetched, but it’s a problem we’ve begun to see with some units who have frequent exposure to male auxiliaries. It’s a form of sexual confusion that’s most undesirable, and it’s important that we provide proper treatment to men who’ve fallen victim to such confusion. Has anyone requested you to perform this way?”

“No,” Steve says quietly. He’s lying. He’s lying to a superior officer during an official debriefing. “No, sir.”

“No, I didn’t think so.” Tavers lets loose a brief chuckle. “As I said, I know it seems far-fetched, especially for an auxiliary as effeminate as you, but surprisingly it has become a problem among some of our more masculine auxiliaries.”

A dozen comebacks spring to mind, well-worn with use on Brooklyn’s most persistent bullies, but Steve doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t want to get be here any longer than he has to. He just needs this doc to sign off on the fact that he’s healthy enough to fuck, then get back to his squad.

“On your hands and knees,” Tavers orders. “No, here, to the edge. That’s correct.” Steve arranges himself on all fours, legs spread for balance as the doctor pulls on the brown latex gloves from the table next to the bed, and swipes his gloved fingers through an open jar of petroleum jelly. Without much attempt at gentleness, Tavers presses two gloved fingers against Steve's hole.

“Any pain or bleeding during or after sodomy?”

“Sometimes there’s a little blood. Doesn’t happen often, not anymore.”

“Hm.” The doctor uses one finger to trace the rim of his hole, very slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see two soldiers a few beds down the row, holding playing cards but staring at him. He tucks his head down, feeling a blush stain his face. Steve’s naked around the Howlies all the time, but it’s not like this, these strangers watching a doctor poke and prod him.

“What’s your usual hygiene procedure?” Tavers asks.

“If possible, I use an enema bulb before and after my duties.”

“If possible?”

“I mean, as conditions allow,” Steve hurries to explain. “In a forward operating position, there’s not always a safe place to clean up, or sometimes there’s no extra water, or--”

“Young man.” Tavers’ hand tightens on Steve’s hip, and Steve knows he’ll have bruises there. “You’re aware that insufficient hygiene results in an increased risk of spreading disease and infection to the men?”

“Yes,” Steve says in a small voice.

“Nurse,” Tavers calls. The nurse who’d brought Steve in is changing the sheets on a bed halfway down the ward, and she looks up at Tavers’ call. “We’re going to need a thorough cleansing enema. Better mix the solution extra strong.”

From the far side of the room, a soldier sitting propped up in his bed chuckles, then holds his newspaper higher to block his face. Steve presses his eyes shut and clenches his jaw.

“Stay still, now,” the doctor orders. His fingers press inside Steve, slowly but firmly, and he rotates his hand, as if to feel every inch of Steve’s insides. “When’s the last time you were checked for VD?”

“A few months ago at Toul-Croix De Metz. They had an evacuation hospital there. I got a check-up.”

“Well, I’m surprised the medical staff had time for such things.”

Steve decides not to share his suspicions that the doctor made time because Barnes had given him a talking to. Besides, he hasn’t been asked a question, and he’s getting the impression that nothing he says is going to make Dr. Tavers think well of him.

“Sit up,” Tavers instructs. “On the edge here. Spread your legs.”

Steve scoots to the edge of the bed and lets the doctor push his legs apart to grasp his dick. He stares resolutely at the bald patch of Tavers’ head so he won’t see if any of the room’s other inhabitants are watching. Taverns presses his thumb down the length of the shaft, then lifts Steve’s cock to examine the underside. “You know what the pamphlet says. Manhood comes from healthy sex organs.”

Taves uses his other hand to cup Steve’s balls. He squeezes until Steve lets out a pained grunt, then lets go.

“Looks like everything’s in order here.” Tavers tugs off the gloves, wipes his hand on a cloth by the bed, then picks up his clipboard and begins to write. “You don’t have any obvious symptoms, but based on your report, we’re going to need to keep you overnight for observation. We need to make certain you’re not spreading disease. A diseased vector in your position would be a significant liability, and I’m given to understand that the rest of your unit is vital to the war effort. Ah, nurse, go ahead.”

Tavers strolls off down the ward as the nurse steps up beside Steve’s bed. “You’ve had one of these before, right, honey?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters. Steve had been taught to do this himself during induction, in fact. He hadn’t imagined that months later he’d be sitting naked in front of a friendly, round-faced nurse about to do it for him.

“I figured.” She offers him a smile. “On your side, please.”

Steve pulls himself up the bed and rolls to face the wall of the hut. He can’t see what the other patients are doing this way, and that’s probably for the best. The nurse’s hand on his back startles him, and she chuckles.

“Just roll a bit, sweetie. I need to put down the rubber sheet.”

Steve rolls forward, keeping himself out of the way while the nurse lays a rubber sheet and a towel then gently touches his arm to roll him back in place. The smell of rubber takes him back all of a sudden to the Brooklyn hospital he’d kept returning to in his youth for scarlet fever, rheumatic fever, this or that worryingly persistent cold, and how he’d come to hate every inch of the place for how helpless it made him feel, how everyone treated him like he’d keel over if he was allowed to do the least little thing for himself. Steve lets out a long breath. It’s not like that anymore. He’s in the Army now, a useful contributor to the war effort, just like the other soldiers here, and there’s no harm in submitting to something that’s meant to keep him healthy.

Bracing a hand on Steve’s hip, the nurse pushes the thin tip of the tube into Steve’s ass. It goes in easly, apparently well-lubricated. In any case, he’s so used to foreign objects being pushed into him that it feels almost natural. The peculiar sensation of liquid flowing in him, on the other hand, feels odd. Since he’s been with the Howlies, he’s gotten used to just using a squeeze bulb, but this is much more.

“You all right?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says immediately. Though as the liquid keeps flooding into him, a cramp seizes his guts. He must have winced, because the nurse stops the flow and puts one soft, warm hand on Steve’s bare belly. It might be the first time a woman’s touched him there. Funny thought, considering all the Howlies have touched practically every inch of him. After a minute, the cramp has passed, and Steve relaxes. The nurse sends water flowing into him again. Steve starts to think after a while that the inflow will never end. He’s beginning to feel uncomfortably full, but he grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut, and thinks about how this is better than getting blisters on his blisters marching 15 miles a day through snowy woods.

“You’re doing well,” the nurse says, and pats him on the back. “Just a little left. Though you’re such a small fella, maybe I oughtn’t to have used the whole pitcher.”

“It’s fine ma’am,” Steve says, more certain than he feels. When he puts his hand to his midsection, it feels taut and fit to burst.

Finally, the nurse settles her hand on the small of Steve’s back and eases the tube out of him. A few drops of liquid escape, but Steve is able to hold the rest in. “There, now,” the nurse says. “I’m sure you know how this goes. You need to hold this for at least 20 minutes, if you can. You can expel it after that.” She tucks a bedpan under him and guides him onto his back. “I’ll come check on you in a while. There’s a signal cord here you can pull if you need help. You just relax now.” Before she walks away, she pulls the sheet up to Steve’s chest to cover his naked body. 

Steve curls in on himself and tries not to feel a pathetic swell of gratitude for that small kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some WWII history links!
> 
> Want to know everything about military enema procedures? [Sure you do.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1fJqOSha48)
> 
> The history of the "blue" discharge for homosexuality [is pretty interesting/terrible.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_discharge#Association_with_homosexuality) Also check out the US Army Medical Department's Office of Medical History's extensive content on [military psychiatry in practice.](http://history.amedd.army.mil/booksdocs/wwii/NeuropsychiatryinWWIIVolI/chapter9.htm)
> 
> Want to put yourself in the shoes of a new recruit afraid his junk might fall off if he makes time with a girl? Check out [this "educational" film on prophylaxis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FTw516UXbQ).  
> For more about hospitals (plus some photos), check out  
> [Military Hospitals in the European Theater of Operations](https://www.med-dept.com/articles/ww2-military-hospitals-european-theater-of-operations/)  
> [Hospitalization in WWII](http://www.sarahsundin.com/hospitalization-in-world-war-ii-mobile-and-fixed-hospitals/)  
> and once again [The Office of Medical History](http://history.amedd.army.mil/booksdocs/wwii/MedSvcsinMedtrnMnrThrtrs/default.htm)
> 
> What's a Nissen hut? [ This is a Nissen hut](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ed/2f/d4/ed2fd476ca0e27d856559aa168e0103d.jpg). This was a British design. Later in the war, the US forces preferred the Quonset hut, which is basically the same thing but made in 'merica.


	4. Chapter 4

It's late evening by the time Tavers returns. Steve has gotten himself cleaned up and re-dressed. He had been sketching the nurse, who’d left the hut after removing the bedpan and other equipment from Steve’s bed, but he closes the notebook quickly. There’s an awful lot of sketches of Barnes and the others in there, and it wouldn’t do to give the wrong impression at this stage.

“The nurse says you tolerated the enema well.” Tavers looks expectantly at Steve. “It must be pleasant to have a proper cleaning out for once.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, though he can think of half a dozen things he’d like to say instead.

“Onto the rest, then. I need to assess your performance.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve had assumed from the beginning that he’ll need to suck Dr. Tavers’ dick. That has been part and parcel of every physical examination he’s had as an auxiliary. He climbs off the bed. “How do you want me?”

“Not so fast, lad.” Tavers gives him a thin smile. “I know you’re eager, but I had something else in mind. There are very few auxiliaries who have long-term assignments with a specific squad. In general, we don’t encourage our soldiers to fraternize with pro-boys or pro-girls outside of their primary function. Not only does it have the potential to create confusion in the men, it can also start to give the auxiliary a warped idea of their role.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“I’ve found it useful for auxiliaries who are detailed to a squad to be exercised outside of that assignment at regular intervals. It helps remind them of proper procedures.” The pointed look Tavers gives Steve is almost a glare. “Since you’re in for an exam anyway, now’s the perfect time to get that out of the way.”

“Exercised.” Steve doesn’t like where this is going.

“Surely you’re familiar with the demonstrations usually required as part of a full exam. Usually servicing the examining physician is enough, but in this case, I’d say servicing the rest of this convalescent ward should be a sufficient demonstration of your fitness to return to duty.”

Steve glances over at the rows of tightly-packed beds. Most of the men nearby have stopped reading or talking, and are looking back at him. “Is there a written policy about this, sir?” Steve asks. He’s read the auxiliary manual front to back, and he’s certain he’s never read anything about a “procedure” like this.

“No, lad.” There’s a slight edge in Tavers’ voice now. “This is based on my expert medical opinion and years of experience.”

Steve clenches his teeth and is thinking how to argue without being downright insubordinate when Tavers leans in and puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He speaks so softly that Steve has to turn his head to use his good ear.

“You do know, I trust, that your commanding officer is here being evaluated for mental fitness. You seem to enjoy your assignment with his unit. I’m sure there are plenty of… perks, on both sides.” Steve has a close-up view of the thin smile Tavers wears. “It would be a shame if your behavior while you’re here reflected poorly on Sergeant Barnes and his command capability.”

Steve swallows what he was going to say next. He would have argued more, perhaps, but Barnes doesn’t deserve to suffer for Steve’s pride. The twist of fear in his stomach is new. Steve hasn’t had anyone who belonged to him, not in a long time. He’d gotten into fights defending his Ma, sure, but not since he was a kid. The last ten years, he’s just had himself to look after. If he gets fired for telling his boss he shouldn’t speak that way to a lady, if the guys on the block call him a fairy behind his back because he sits out on the fire escape sketching instead of going out dancing, if he shows up to church with a black eye after standing up to a bully at the cinema, it doesn’t matter to anyone but Steve. This realization is new and sharp: that because of his stubbornness or his temper, someone he cares about could get hurt. And that’d wouldn’t be right, not after all Barnes and the other Howlies have done for him.

Steve pictures it for a second-- Barnes alone in some hospital bed somewhere in the compound, mouth pressed shut, fists clenched, raw and exposed like a wound, and with his eyes darting around the room scanning for motion, the same way he’d been on the plane the whole way across the Channel. Steve shoves that image aside. He has a job to do.

“No sir,” Steve says. “You’re right. That’d be a shame.”

“Excellent.” Tavers’ thin smile widens into a grin. “You may begin as soon as you’re ready.”

Steve does everything by the book. He lays out his log sheet and the short pencil that has the best lead left on it. Then he strips completely, and prepares himself with petroleum jelly. Most of the men are pretending not to watch this part, but Tavers stands at the end of the bed observing Steve’s every move, and once in a while jotting down a note on his clipboard. What he’s writing, Steve can’t imagine. But let him write-- Steve knows the rules, and he knows his job. His performance isn’t going to reflect poorly on anyone.

The men who can walk form a line. It’s very much like a day at the auxiliary station used to be: an orderly progression of strangers. These strangers may have bandaged head wounds or limbs scarred by burns, but their pricks seem to work just fine. Steve’s not used to a crowd standing around watching, but they don’t seem to be in too much of a hurry. 

For a second, when the guy he’s sucking finishes and moves out of the way, Steve catches a glimpse of the line of men waiting at the foot of his bed. A bout of of vertigo hits as he remembers a fear from before, far enough away that it might be from another lifetime, of ending up like this someday in his old neighborhood: facing down a lineup and unable to get away.

But this isn’t like that, he tells himself to calm his suddenly racing heart. This is just another day in the line of duty of an Army auxiliary. And for every one of them like the PFC with the narrow moustache who pulls Steve’s hair fit to scalp him while he fucks Steve from behind, there’s one like the man with his broken leg all wrapped up in plaster who thrusts up gently into Steve’s mouth and moans like he’s never felt this good. They’re not trying to hurt him; they’re just as careful--or not careful--with him as they would be with any other piece of government property. And Steve’s proud of the role he plays-- it’s an essential one, something the Army values.

Steve stops counting after six, because he’s not supposed to be comparing this to what he’d be doing if he was back with the other Howlies right now. He’s been fucked by a lot of men, Steve thinks as another soldier thrusts into him, grunting rhythmically as he nears his climax. He’s never really thought about how many, but it’s definitely hundreds, and probably more than a thousand. That’s a lot of contribution to the war effort. These men aren’t any worse than any others, and they’re a good sight better than some Steve’s put up with. In any case, they’re just as entitled to his services as any other member of the US Army. He’s not supposed to have preferences. He’s not supposed to think about someone else when a soldier is fucking him. That’s conduct unbecoming an auxiliary, and he’s supposed to be demonstrating his professionalism.

After the man fucking him finishes, Steve gives him the standard speech about VD-prevention procedures, thanks him, and sits back on his bed. The line is gone at last. There’s only Dr. Tavers, who’s standing at the end of the bed, scribbling on his clipboard.

“That’s everyone, sir,” Steve says. “Did you want the personal demonstration now?”

“Yes,” Tavers says without looking up. “You may go ahead.”

Steve kneels in front of Tavers, because he knows better than to squat at this point in a shift. He unbuttons Tavers trousers with some difficulty, as the bulge they're containing is considerable. Obviously Tavers has been hard for a while, watching Steve take on soldier after soldier after soldier. Steve thinks of Barnes watching him with the other Howlies, and that intense, hungry look in his eyes, and has to push down a swell of anger that Tavers can do the same thing; it’s not professional to have a preference.

Tavers puts his hands on his hips as he thrusts into Steve’s mouth, as if trying to avoid any more contact that strictly necessary. Steve’s jaw is sore after all the work he’s already done, and Tavers is so thick it’s painful to stretch his mouth around him, but Steve won’t complain, or ask for a break. He wants it over. Just to prove he can do his duty efficiently, of course, and not because he has any objection to fulfilling his function. Fortunately, Tavers seems to have enjoyed Steve’s performance so much that it doesn’t take long. Steve swallows, because that’s what the auxiliary manual recommends.

“Would you like to hear the standard recommendations about preventing the spread of disease?” he asks when he stands up, because it’s not technically being cheeky, just following correct procedure.

“No. That’ll be all, Rogers.” Tavers gives Steve a benevolent smile. “I think we can arrange to send you back to your assignment in the morning.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve says. He stands there, naked and damp, until Tavers walks out the door on the other end of the ward. The men have mostly settled back down in their own beds. It's late enough that there's only a lamp or two still burning in the Nissen hut. Perhaps a few of the soldiers are hoping for another go. Steve's gotten to know when one of the Howlies will want seconds, and he'll look for the signs before he turns in for the night. But Steve's fulfilled his duty here, and no one can say he hasn't given it his all. 

Steve turns his back to the ward, and gathers up his belongings. He takes the time to towel off before he puts his uniform back on, but he doesn’t have the luxury for the full hygiene procedure. He’s got somewhere to be. He laces up his boots, shoulders his rucksack, and is on his way out before anyone can tell him otherwise.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve has always had excellent manners and an honest face, so it’s not difficult to find out where they do psychological evaluations here. It’s a proper building on the square around the open area with all the Nissen huts, possibly a repurposed dormitory of some kind. The woman who greets Steve at the door says, “Didn’t know you boys did house calls.” But she shows him to the right room without any questions.

Steve hesitates when he realizes how early in the morning it must be, but if he’s wrong, he can always apologize. He knocks, and Barnes answers the door almost immediately. Barnes has that faraway, blank look in his eyes, the one he gets when he’s been on his own too long. He’s still in uniform, but he looks thinner, like he somehow lost weight in the twelve hours they’ve been apart. Looks like Steve was right to worry.

“Morning, Sarge.”

“What are you doing here, Rogers?” Barnes looks up and down the hall before frowning at Steve.

“Got bored waiting around.” Steve barges in without waiting to be invited. It’s a nice little room, not too much like a hospital, with a lamp glowing cheerily on the bedside table and a chair in one corner. There’s two metal-frame beds, but Barnes is the only one here. He closes the door after Steve. “Like that time at Reims?” Barnes asks.

“How many times you going to make me say I’m sorry about that!” Steve says indignantly. It's a well-worn joke between them, and the fact that Barnes is smiling at him, can still smile, does a lot to dispel the worry that's been weighing on Steve.

“You’re supposed to be back with the squad by now.”

“They kept me overnight for observation.” Steve has already decided Barnes doesn’t need to know the rest. “Just got out.”

“You got something really wrong? Is it your asthma acting up again?” Barnes grabs him by the shoulders, suddenly all puffed-up mother hen. “I told you--”

“No, nothing like that.” Steve can’t help but feel a little spark of warmth at the concern. “I just can’t go anywhere until they spring you.”

“Yeah, well.” Barnes shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, and Steve notices Barnes is in his shirtsleeves and uniform pants. Probably been pacing and smoking all night and hasn’t slept a wink. “You could be waiting a while.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if I’m Section Eight.” Barnes is looking down at his stocking feet now. “You’re gonna have to go back without me. The guys’ll take care of you.”

“Section Eight.” A cold dread churns in Steve’s gut, roiling unpleasantly with all the come Steve has swallowed in the past few hours. Could Barnes get a blue discharge because of what he’d done with Steve? Surely the doctors couldn’t know about that-- Steve hasn’t said anything incriminating, has he? “What’re you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” Barnes shuffles over to the bed and drops down onto it. “If this shrink says I’m mentally unfit, maybe he’s not wrong. I shot those boys.”

Steve can see the scene clear as a film reel: Barnes raising his gun, the bodies, the blood. Even now, it’s not nearly the most disturbing thing Steve’s seen at war. He remembers Barnes looking at him when Steve called his name, and the moment when Steve thought Barnes might not recognize him. But he had in the end. “You must have done it for a reason.”

“What do you know about it?” Barnes snaps. He scoots back until he’s propped against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Nothing.” Steve climbs onto the bed and leans about the wall next to Barnes. “Because you haven’t told me.”

Barnes draws his knees up against his chest and settles his arms over them. He stares at the opposite wall so long Steve thinks he might not tell Steve anything after all. Then he says, “Whatever the Squids were doing to them, it was like they tried to do to me. The procedure didn’t always work. I saw it happen before, when they had me. It went wrong most of the time. That’s why Zola was so excited when…”

Steve holds perfectly still, like maybe if Barnes forget Steve’s there, he’ll keep talking. Steve’s never heard Barnes say anything about Zola, or anything that happened to him before he broke the Howlies and the other prisoners out of that factory. Dum-Dum’s told him a few things, and Jones a few more but not in front of the sergeant. Barnes lets out a breath and shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter. Those two weren’t going to be alright. They were breathing, but they weren’t themselves anymore.” Barnes curls in on himself, and Steve can’t see his expression in the shadows of the lamplight. “That’s what I wish someone would do to me if they took me again. Hell, maybe I wish that would’ve happened when--”

“No you don’t,” Steve says quickly, because it’s a sin, what Barnes was about to say. “So you didn’t do anything wrong. Sounds to me like those guys were already dead.”

Barnes pins him with a skeptical look.

“Dead, or worse than dead, like you said,” Steve tells him. “Maybe you did them a favor.”

“Favor, huh?” Barnes glares at him. “That’s rich coming from you, Rogers. Nobody ever told you you’d be better off dead? Kid small as you, asthma, one ear mostly deaf, half the diseases in Brooklyn--”

“All the time,” Steve says evenly. “But you wouldn’t have been like them. If we’d known each other back there, I mean. You wouldn’t have looked at me and decided I should die.”

 

“You think I’m a better guy than I am.” Barnes rubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry I said that, about you--”

“Ain’t as if I never heard it before,” Steve says, which is nothing but the truth.

“You know I don’t think--”

“I know, Sarge.”

They sit there in silence. Barnes has listed a little, and his shoulder is pressed against Steve. He smells like cigarettes: not the antiseptic smell of a hospital, but not the gunpowder and sweat smell of battle, either.

“Would you do it again?” Steve asks. “Now you’ve had time to think it over?”

“Yes,” Barnes whispers. “If they’d done to me what they did to those boys…. I’d do it again in a second.”

“Well there you go.”

Barnes lays his head down in his arms with his face turned away. Steve can’t say for sure if he’s crying, but he’s shaking like he was right after they got back from that Hydra base. Steve looks down at his hands. “How about I pray for their souls,” he says.

Barnes turns his head to peer at Steve. “That’d be alright.”

Steve fishes his rosary out of the pocket of his rucksack. He kneels on the floor, and he tries to ignore the fact that he still feels wet and loose from being fucked so much tonight and still has the sharp taste of semen on his tongue. God already knows he’s not perfect. As he makes the sign of the cross, it occurs to him he should pray out loud, so Barnes know what he’s doing, so he does. It’s strange to hear the words while he presses each bead. Like he’s the one leading the congregation.

The Rosary for the Faithful Departed comes easily to mind. He used to do one every day for his Ma, though in truth he’s as certain as any mortal can be that she didn’t spend any time in Purgatory at all. Steve’s pretty sure Zola didn’t let his prisoners have a regular Confession, though, so those boys Barnes shot could use the prayers, probably. Instead of the Fatima, Steve recites the Eternal Rest. “Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. Requiescant in pace.”

Just after Steve finishes the second decade, he hears Barnes move, settling on the side of the bed close enough for his leg to press against Steve’s shoulder. Steve doesn’t stop praying, but he glances over to see Barnes with his head bowed and hands folded, like he might be praying, too. Steve closes his eyes, because it seems like the sort of thing that’s private.

When he’s finished the Hail, Holy Queen and says the last amen, Steve kneels there a minute more, flexing his toes so the feeling will come back into his legs. Barnes is sitting up straight again, looking at the rosary where it’s wrapped around Steve’s hand.

“That a prayer for the dead?” Barnes asks.

“Some of it.” Steve tucks the rosary back in its pocket. “Eternal rest grant unto them, oh Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace.”

“Right.” Barnes takes the pack of cigarettes from the bedside table. He offers one to Steve, who refuses, then lights up. Barnes moves over to pull up the window a bit and stands there looking down on the lawn. “You can use that rosary stuff for someone who’s not dead too, right?”

“Yes.”

“You ever pray like that for me?” Barnes looks at Steve, and Steve can’t for the life of him look away.

“Would you be sore if I had?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” Barnes takes a drag of his cigarette and lets it out. Steve keeps looking back at him, like he’s hypnotized or something. “It sounded kind of pretty, the way you said it.”

A knock on the door makes them both start. Barnes stubs the the cigarette out in the ashtray before he opens the door.

“Sergeant Barnes. I was just preparing your discharge papers.” A short man with his uniform entirely too neat for this hour of the morning peers into the room and raises an eyebrow at Steve. “I don’t suppose you’re AFC Rogers.”

“Yes sir, I am.”

“Of course you are.” The man sighs and rubs his forehead.

“What brings you here, doc?” Barnes asks. “Thought you were planning to come back this afternoon.”

“Well, you both may be interested to know that as I was writing up my initial evaluation, I got a call from the SSR top brass. I was told in no uncertain terms that you, Sergeant Barnes, are critical to operations on the Western front, and you are to be cleared for active duty with all possible speed.”

“Oh.” Barnes glances at Steve, then drops his gaze to the floor.

“I do not like being told how to do my job, Sergeant,” the doctor continues. “But I do not have time to argue with the SSR and fill out all the paperwork that would require. Frankly, I don’t feel good about the situation. I recommend that you talk to a doctor again as soon as you’ve finished whatever it is that’s so damn critical. I mean that, for your own good. You’re cleared to return to combat.”

“Thank you, sir,” Barnes says dully. Steve could almost swear there’s a note of disappointment in Barnes’ voice, but maybe he just doesn’t want to rub it in this doctor’s face that he’s had rank pulled on him.

“The nurse downstairs will give you the proper forms,” the doctor says as he starts to go. “Get out of my hospital before I change my mind.”  
\--

They walk back from the hospital through foggy streets. Not many people around this early in the morning, so there’s no one to give them funny looks when they see an NCO and a pro-boy walking together. It’s nice, Steve thinks, like they’re friends or something.

“What’re you gonna do after the war?” Barnes asks.

“That’s a funny question.” Well, Steve has heard other soldiers talk about it lots, but never the other auxiliaries. “Why do you care?”

“I thought we might see each other around the neighborhood.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve says, though he bets Bucky’s family hasn’t ever been to Steve’s part of Brooklyn, and never will be. “I let my old place go when I signed up. I’ll find something else, though.”

“Maybe we could go in on a place together.”

Steve stops, and Barnes goes another few steps before he stops to look back. “I’m not gonna be your prophylactic auxiliary after the war, Sergeant,” Steve says, voice low and tight.

“I never said-- I know that, Rogers. I know that.” Barnes shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. He’s scowling like he’s mad Steve said that, but Steve scowls right back.

“I’m not a punk.”

“OK. I didn’t mean that.”

“What did you mean, Sergeant?” Steve asks. He realizes then that he’s too close, pushed up on his tiptoes right in Barnes’ face like he’s going to slug him.

But Barnes doesn’t have that satisfied sneer the bullies back home used to wear, or even the shit-eating grin Barnes uses when he’s pulled off a good joke. His cheeks are pink, and his mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. “Forget I said anything.”

They cross a street in silence. Steve’s anger trickles out of him as he realizes Barnes is walking with shoulders hunched and head hanging low like a whipped dog. He knows Barnes didn’t mean anything by it. Even so, there’s part of him, just for a second, that thinks being a punk might not be so bad. Everyone’s going to think it anyway, whenever they hear what he did during the war. Steve’s not much of a cook or a housekeeper, but he wouldn’t mind it. And Barnes would come home after work, and sometimes he’d need Steve so much he’d fuck him right there in the kitchen, leaning over the sink. Or maybe he’d be in his chair, reading the evening paper while Steve bounced in his lap. Could be almost respectable, an arrangement like that.

But that’s all nonsense. Barnes is a handsome fella. He’s gonna have a wife someday, kids too, probably. He wouldn’t want a punk forever, certainly not a gawky, spindly little thing like Steve, not when he’s back where there are better options. Steve pushes the image of that kind of domestic life out of his mind, thinking maybe he’ll draw it one day, and it’ll seem like a real funny joke. But Barnes still looks like he’s marching to a funeral, so Steve asks, “What’re you gonna do after the war?”

“Don’t think I’ll have much choice. The Army won’t give me up until I’m dead.”

“Did Colonel Philips tell you that?”

“Nobody told me that. You saw what happened back there with that doctor.”

“Oh.” Steve hadn’t thought Barnes cared too much for the Army. Besides, there wouldn’t be much need for what the Howling Commandos did, not after the war was won. “You think they wouldn’t let you go?”

“Don’t know if they should,” Barnes says, still looking at his feet. “If this is how things are when the Army’s holding my leash, I don’t want to see what would happen if I went out on my own.”

Before Steve can ask what he means by that, Dum-Dum appears from out of the fog, propped against the wall of the building where the Howlies are billeted. He waves when he sees them, and grinds his cigarette out on the bricks. “It’s about time you two showed up,” he grumbles. “Phillips wants us back on the double.”

“He say why?” Barnes asks.

“They got some kind of lead on Zola. Sounds like we got a train to catch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to thefilthiestpiglet for making art for this story. And thanks to theletterelle for the patience over many months as I put this thing together. Thanks for reading, y'all!


End file.
